


Strength (Inner Senshi: Orbital Decay Part 1)

by LordYellowtail



Series: Sailor Moon Classic: Re-Crystalized [1]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Families of Choice, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Minor Character Death, Orphans, References to Depression, Team as Family, not the story I meant to write when I started writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 05:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18004436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordYellowtail/pseuds/LordYellowtail
Summary: Makoto learned not to waste her time with prayers.But she never stopped wishing to be strong.





	Strength (Inner Senshi: Orbital Decay Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! I’m back.
> 
> For a couple of years, I’ve been plagued by ideas about what might have happened if Sailor Moon was a universe where everyone had just a bit less plot armor, not quite so much good luck, trauma wasn’t just something that only lasted more than one episode during the season finale (or when Usagi and Mamoru broke up _again_ )—but the heroes decided to keep winning anyway, because no other outcome was remotely acceptable.
> 
> I wasn't planning on it, but Makoto wanted to go first, so here we are.
> 
> I could not have written this without encouragement from [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly) and [ilyena_sylph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyena_sylph/pseuds/ilyena_sylph), in the form not only of hours of conversation and laughter, but also beautiful, awesome, endlessly better than canon stories that reminded me just how much fun this could be.
> 
> **Timeline Note:** Set during _Sailor Moon Classic, Season 1_.
> 
>   **Series Order Note: Series order may change as new stories are posted, since I'm ordering them in chronological order, not posting order. Please check the series page for the latest correct arrangement of each story in the AU timeline.**

Makoto had not prayed—had not so much as given a single thought to the tiniest of _kami_ —since she had pulled herself free of the remains of her seat— _bent around her, trying to hold her and trap her and crush her_ —in the middle of a mountainous clearing strewn with the broken, _burning_ remains of what had once been a jumbo jet. Not since she dragged herself bodily to her parents—just as twisted and broken as everything else around her—with a desperate strength that even eleven years later not one single person had ever for one second believed could have come from the pile of torn clothing, bruises, and blood hiding a half-delirious four-year-old.

Makoto had not prayed since she had plopped herself down in the middle of the clearing and shaken her parents; not since Papa did not move and Mama did not wake. Not since Mama’s breath came only once for every handful of Makoto’s exhausted gasps, slower and slower as the minutes passed, and she had _known_ what that meant. Had not prayed since she begged every higher power her parents had taught her to worship and hold faith in to _give Papa back and let Mama stay and please, don’t leave me alone_.

And yet alone she had been. Alone when Mama had finally gotten too tired, and gone to rest with Papa. Alone, Makoto listened to almost every other survivor fade away around her. Alone when, the next day, after sunrise, rescue workers had _finally_ decided to come look and see if anyone might have survived.

Mama and Papa always told little Makoto that she was as smart as they ever could have wanted, and the lesson had been clear. Either there were no gods out there at all, or the _kami_ and their ilk listened and _just didn’t care_.

She preferred a great big nothing to the idea that _they_ would turn her back on her, but either way, she learned: be strong enough to save yourself—and what you love—or you won’t be saved at all.

But Makoto’s parents had taught her to be _generous_ , too. Had taught her what _wealth_ meant, that it was a privilege to live as they did. That the strong should protect the weak. So even though she knew now praying to nothing was a waste of time, she did not hesitate to wish—on every shooting star, on every fountain-tossed coin, on every black cat that crossed her path—for the strength she needed to keep herself and whoever or whatever she might love again safe.

(Because her heart ached deep in her chest every waking moment, but it wasn’t frozen, not yet, and she knew, _absolutely knew_ with a certainty no cruel orphanage matron could ever shake, she would have a family again one day.)

She wished for the strength to guard all the other unwanted, bullied, and hurting ( _tossed away_ ) kids in the orphanage where she had been dumped while her aunts and uncles tried and tried and _tried_ for so many years and—finally, when Makoto was so old she could not actually remember her parents’ faces, and only knew them from the handful of photos her uncle had not _set on fire_ while she watched, when he realized he would get nothing)—failed to take anything Mama and Papa had left her.

Makoto, just barely turned six, had even pledged to one of the black cats, once, after the creature came to her and sat in her lap and purred her fear away when her caretaker had forgotten her at a playground when it was time to gather all the orphans and leave. _Let me be strong, and I promise I will always protect everyone smaller than me, and never ever abandon them._

And her wish came true. With every passing lonely birthday, that spark of wild, barely controllable, _sometimes-there-sometimes-not_ strength—strength far more than her body should have been able to contain, strength that had let her tear free of the bones of an airplane that wanted to be her coffin, even when she was still so small the space under her father’s winter coat was an entire world to explore—grew with her, and she grew and grew and _grew_. She kept her gift a secret all the while, ever so careful not to _really_ hurt someone when she realized just how breakable even the worst bullies were in her grip, until one day she realized she had been given everything she wished for. Everything she needed to keep her promise.

And keep it, Makoto did, never hesitating to step in between the weak and the helpless and those who got joy from their pain. And for all her effort, she was shunned and feared and slandered in harsh, mocking whispers. For all that the road she had set for herself was lonely and the empty apartment she had gotten herself after proving she was mature enough to escape the orphanage was always too quiet and _so cold_ and entirely too still, walking the easy path was never a choice she could have made.

And on the worst days, when she almost broke and acknowledged the gaping, empty hole in her life where someone, _anyone_ she could love was supposed to be, the quiet, honest, desperate gratitude of the kids she helped kept her going. They needed her, and to break would mean abandoning them. It was enough.

Enough, even though her childishly certain dream of having family again withered and crumbled. She knew well that no one had wanted her for anything but her money when she was in the orphanage— _too tall, too bold, too improper and brazen, and even too much curly hair (too strong, too violent, stupid, freak)_. Dreaming of having anyone at all finally just made her _hurt_.

It was enough right up until the day Makoto met the girl who so quickly—without her even noticing, when Makoto was sure it was so impossible no pile of wishes, no matter how generous the stars, coins, and black cats might be feeling, would ever be enough to make it happen—became the center of her whole world. She liked to think she would have noticed sooner, caught on as it wasactually happening, but both of them were entirely too busy with more friends than either of them had ever imagined having, all of them settling into orbit around the bright, shining star that became the center of their universe— _friend, sister, leader (Princess!), and so much that Makoto did not have the words for (Sailor Moon, Usagi, theirs)_. Too busy learning the true extent of the gifts they had been given and trying to figure out just how they were expected to fight a war against endless hordes of demons and an insane space witch who had decided to take over the world because she had not been able to catch the attention of a cute boy she liked ( _what the fuck, for real?_ ) , and somehow _win_ (and maybe even escape with their lives).

If pledging her life to battling such vile, deadly, ridiculously petty evil was the bargain for having a family—for having _this_ family, sisters and beloved (even if she had never gotten up the courage to tell the girl who held her heart in small, cool, deceptively powerful hands) and aunts and uncles who didn’t just want her for her money, and _her_ _family now,_ _all hers—_ well. She never hesitated to meet the darkness head on if it meant keeping them safe for even just one more breath.

She certainly had strength enough for that.

And yet …

In her quietest moments, she still laid awake in bed, exhausted and alone because they all had to go home ( _away from her, where she can’t see them, can’t know they’re okay, can’t protect them_ ) and try to sleep off (or at least sleep enough to heal up from) their latest brush with the screaming, tearing, bloody, burning death that meant to destroy her family—and the rest of the world with it, she guessed. But without the others, _without her family, without the one who snapped up her heart in delicate fingers and without even realizing it fed warmth back into the empty place in Makoto’s chest with nothing more than shy smiles and butterfly touches and quiet words and just being there_ , would the rest of the world even matter? Would she even care?

And every time she laid awake, alone with no distractions in the dark, she couldn’t help wishing that the gods and spirits had been real after all. Because more than anything, she feared the day her strength would again not be enough, and her parents would have to apologize to one of her new family for their daughter’s failure to save them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I’ve written since— _yikes!_ —November 2015, so, my apologies if I’m a bit stiff and lumbering as I get my bearings back. It certainly doesn’t help that, despite being a Moonie for more than half my life, I’ve barely ever tried to write for the Senshi because none of the ideas I had felt different enough from what I’d read. But then my brain twisted itself into knots over _this_ and refused to be quiet about it.
> 
> Thank you for sticking around to watch me get the rust off my writing skills and really try to get to know these characters better than before. I haven't actually felt like writing in _years_ and I'm just so glad I was actually able to put something together that I felt like showing to anyone else.
> 
> This is the first story in a series I'm hoping to write wherein things don’t always work out perfectly all the time, and sometimes just go _bad_. The Senshi are allowed to be mortal, to admit when they’re not okay, and sometimes even to be honest enough to say that even if love conquers all, sometimes it just isn't enough. I want to let them move around in a wider world, and not just be moving helplessly towards a predetermined fate that some of them don't even seem to want and that means their choices don't actually matter.
> 
> Unfortunately, that might mean breaking a few things so they can choose how to put them back together.
> 
> But I've never been into _grimdark_ , so the Senshi will always win in the end--I grew up with them, and I know they just don't know how to do anything else.


End file.
